


Reminisce

by lieb3



Series: Depression [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieb3/pseuds/lieb3
Summary: He looked back and wondered why he was so broken.





	Reminisce

**Author's Note:**

> This is really sad ig. I used descriptions of how I feel alot of the time, so that's what i used for reference on his emotions and the dulling of senses and such.

_ I remember when I, struck your hair _

_ You turned and told me, you had no other cares _

_ But when we went and walked the other streets _

_ The joy the life we felt beneath our feet _

 

The springy mattress dipped below him as he sat, hands resting on either side of his hips. Two months.. had it already been two months? His days felt short and dark, emotions dulled to a faint buzz in the back of his mind.

 

Every day felt like a blur. Some days, he could hardly tell the difference to what was a dream and what was a reality. Waking up in the morning wasn't necessarily difficult, but it was hard to tell if he was even up or not anymore. His friends rarely visited -- they were caught up in their own lives, and he really couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t like they didn’t want to see him, that wasn’t that case at all, but he was rarely accompanied by anyone when he was home, and that was almost everyday.

 

Ever since that day, exactly sixty-one days ago, his mental health began to deteriorate. Day after day, he went more and more into this small headspace of his, and everything seemed faded out by now. The colors that would usually be bright and happy in his eyes were abated into a gray-toned version of them, bags heavy under his eyes and all his senses diminished.

 

When he was little, and kept inside, this is how his pills made him feel. Now, he didn’t need the pills. It was a reality, and it should take more of a toll on his messed up brain, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. He couldn’t feel anything correctly; not the linoleum under his fingertips as he glided them across the sleek, cold surface, not even the pain from the previous months. Everything he did felt emotionless and mechanical, from the way he spoke to others to every motion he made.

 

Sitting still for another twenty-something minutes, he finally tore his eyes away from the paint-splattered wall of his bedroom. The hour before everything, he brought out buckets of wall-paint from when  _ they _ were painting their new apartment together, and ruined the bright yellow walls…

 

_ Eddie and Richie walked through their front door, laughing over a stupid joke that the black-haired man had made. With bright smiles on their faces, they entered the currently empty bedroom with tubs of paint hanging in Eddie’s hands, materials and brushes and other things in Richie’s hands. The color they (Richie) had chose was a happy yellow, that took a lot of convincing to get Eddie to give into his choice (that he couldn’t pass up, because Richie always hit him with a pout and doe eyes and this whine that was almost impossible for him to refuse).  _

 

_ A few hours and playful painting of cheeks later, they were finally finished painting the room. It was messy, to say the least, but... it was theirs. That’s all that mattered. The two of them stood in the middle of the room, Eddie leaning back against Richie’s chest, the taller of the two’s arms lazily wrapped around his waist. _

 

_ Eddie turned his head, leaning up onto his toes to plant a chaste kiss over Richie’s lips, smiling, “I love you.” He rested his hand atop of where Richie’s were, looking at him with a full heart. _

 

_ “I love you too, Eds.” _

 

He gritted his teeth against each other, closing his eyes to will the tears that began to build up in his eyes away.  _ Deep breath in, deep breath out, _ his mind chanted. He always hated crying, it drained him out and made his eyes burn and didn’t make him feel better at all. People always say to cry, said that it would make him feel better, but that wasn’t the case at all.

 

Maybe the reason he still hasn’t gotten over his loss was fact that  _ he _ was the love of his life, ever since they were young. It took years of pining to finally get together, and now it was all wasted. Everything in their relationship seemed to be going okay, and suddenly it wasn’t. They spent less time together, and dates got skipped, and suddenly he was gone. Took all his stuff and left, because how was he supposed to explain it?

 

He stood up slowly, realizing how long it had been since he had first sat down. There was another thing; he could be sitting and staring for hours on end and just not realize it. There was nobody to remind him to eat, or take care of himself in general. He was skinny, skinnier than he was even before everything had gone down. His hair was greasy and messy, and he put no effort into even trying to brush it. No use, it wasn’t like he’d be leaving the place.

 

His knees buckled slightly from how long he’d been sitting, but quickly recovered and went into the tiny living room. Sitting on the couch now, he grabbed the remote, pointing it to the TV to turn it on. It immediately opened up to Netflix, a random episode of The Office paused a little after halfway through…

 

_ Eddie was sat between Richie’s legs on the couch, the soft noises from the television slowly lulling him into a light slumber. This is how most of their nights ended, Richie holding the smaller boy close as they watched reruns of a show on Netflix or a random Lifetime movie that they decided had a good enough description for them to watch together (you can’t really blame them, some of them were good, and they’d continue to watch them, even with the teasing from their friends when they saw it in the DVR). It was calming, and perfect, and neither of them would want to change habits like this. _

 

His breath hitched slightly, leg jumping up and down as the heel of his foot tapped against the wooden floor, sound muffled by the sock covering his skin. The memories of everything -- he just couldn’t get them out of his head, nothing he did would get it out of his head.

 

A while ago, one of his friends suggested he go see someone because of how he was feeling. He did, and they just prescribed him medicine that he remembered taking a long, long time ago.

 

The bottle sat full on his dresser since he first got it.

 

They either made him super happy, or worse than how he felt now. It wasn’t worth the risk, at least, he didn’t think so. Feeling this way was bad enough, and getting his hopes up for a good day was something he learned never do anymore. 

 

Shaking his head, he fisted his hands up, nails tearing lightly into his skin and making it bleed. Again, the feeling was nothing but a dull itch on the surface of his skin.

  
This would never change. He’d be like this for the rest of his life, even if he put on a happy, normal  façade in front of people he cared for. The  **tall, lanky boy who always made inappropriate jokes** was who he is and will always be, even though deep inside he was broken.

**Author's Note:**

> CAN U BELIEVE I JUST DID THAT LOL  
> IK ITS KONDA CONFUSING BUT IM NOT GONNA EXPLAIN JUS ASK IN THE COMMENTS ABT WOT THIS SHIT MEANS BC ILL EXPLAIN LOL TIS NOT HARD TO UNDERSTAND BUT IM TIRED  
> ILY ALL FOLLOW MY SOCIAL MEDIA THAT I MENTIONED IN THE END OF MY LAST BOOK LOL IM THIRSTY GN  
> -PAIGEY


End file.
